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Generation Lawless Episode Two

I
stay completely still for a long time, staring up at my little
brother like it's the first time I've ever really seen him. Then I
pull myself to my feet and approach him cautiously.

He
just stands there staring at the knife.

I
wrap my hand around his; around the hand that's gripping the knife.
It shakes but loosens at my touch.

“Here,
let me.”

I
take the knife from him and stow it back in the place between my belt
and jeans. I want to say 'thank you' but it ent the right time for
it.

“Come
on,” I say softly, circling an arm round his waist.

“Let's
help the girl,” he says almost robotically and that's when I
remember the child, curled up and bloodied.

I
turn and approach her. A tangle of black curls lies across her closed
eyes. Her dark skin looks ashen. Her lips are parted and as I scoop
her into my arms, I realise that no breath comes from between them. I
don't tell Mim that but I think he knows.

She
weighs hardly anything and she looks younger than Mim. Must've
been born on the ship, must've spent her whole life cooped up in
space and now... now... after just a brief taste of life, she's had
it snatched away from her.

We
turn back towards the house, picking our way across the litter strewn
garden. I don't wanna think about what happened here, don't wanna
believe that the Firsters could be this feral.
To kill a child? For what?

That's
when I see a figure in the upstairs window, striking the glass with
her fists. She looks so similar to the girl in my arms it's freaky –
she has the same dark skin and hair – but about my
age or older. She locks her terror-filled eyes with mine and
where her hands have struck the window, there are bloody prints.

She's
been attacked.

Her
eyes dart from the girl in my arms and back up at me.

Jessie,
don't be a hero. I hear my Dad's
voice as clear as anything. Don't be a hero.

My body's bruised from
the struggle with the Firster, the last thing I wanna do is risk
further injury rescuing another girl I don't even know.

I just want to get
out, get away, get to safety.

But her stare
penetrates me.

I can't get it outta
my mind, don't think I ever will.

Then suddenly Mim
stops. He's seen her, too.

“Jessie...Jessie,”
he says, tugging on my sleeve.

“I know. I saw her.
I know.” I say. “But we've gotta go. It's too late to save her.
The fire's upstairs and it'll spread and the smoke'll choke us.”

Mim looks at me,
horrified, his eyes brimming with anger.

“What's wrong with
you?” he screams.

That's when I realise
he has so much more riding on that girl living than I do. He just
killed. He's a murderer. He'll never forgive himself if it was for
nothing.

We stagger through the
back door, through the kitchen, into the hallway, then pause at the
bottom of the stairs. From above, black smoke collects on the ceiling
like a storm cloud and a ring of fire engulfs the door frame of the
master bedroom like it's the gateway to hell.

Mim gives me this look
of determination.

“Don't go up there,”
I say, feeling myself well up. (Shut up).

“I have to” he
says, placing a foot on the bottom step. It's so hot his figure
warbles before my eyes like a mirage and I think is this the last
time I'll see my brother? Is this it?

Then I grab him by the
collar of his shirt and yank him back down. I plonk the dead girl in
his arms.

“Check the other
rooms! Make sure no one's trapped. Get any one out you can, but keep
outta sight.” Then I sling my bag off my back and dump it at his
feet. “And take this.”

“You don't need it?”

I pat the knife at my
waist. “Got everything I need right here.”

He looks up at me with
his stupid doe eyes, all scared and worried and I rile with anger. He
can't have it both ways! He can't pester me into playing a hero then
look like a slapped fish when I do!

But then he smiles
suddenly; a proper grin like I've just given him the best present in
the world.

And I realise that's
pride in his face –

Pride at me, at what
I'm gonna do –

And I think I feel it
a bit too –

Then, in a flash, he
disappears down the corridor.

I look up the stairs.
The fire from the bedroom's giving me enough light to see by but the
heat that pours down with it stings my face and my throat.

There's stuff
littering the steps: broken photos, hair brushes, that sorta thing.
Whoever ransacked the place mustn't've found anything worth stealing.
So they killed a couple of kids and torched it? For what?

I seethe as I stomp up
the stairs, coughing and spluttering.

Just because we're
Newbies? It's so stupid. So mindless. So petty. So...immature! Yes,
the adult's are dead. But that doesn't mean life has to descend into
chaos. That doesn't mean we have to kill each other, doesn't mean we
have to turn against each other in order to survive.

But then... I was
gonna leave that girl upstairs. I was gonna leave her in whatever
crummy situation she might've been in – to be murdered or left to
burn or whatever –

Am I any better?

I reach the landing
and the heat nearly knocks me backwards.

I pause.

The girl's window was
overlooking the garden which means it was at the back of the house.
Which means her bedroom is beside mine. Which means the whole time
I've lived in Plentiville only a single wall, a thin row of bricks
and cement, has separated me from her.

And I dunno who she
is. Never even wanted to.

I glance down the hall
towards the room. There's only one way to get there without getting
so close to the fire I risk the chance burning and that's by climbing
across the banisters that border the stairs. But the fire is
painfully hot and I can't get close enough.

“Hey!” I cry,
forgetting myself for a moment, forgetting there could be a Firster
in there with her.

But when a figure
appears at the door, stooped over, it's her. She staggers forward and
I see the deep gash across her forehead, with blood pumping from it
and pouring down her face.

“You're hurt,” I
say.

She looks dazed.
“Firster.”

“Are they still
there?”

She leans against the
door frame for support. “We fought him. He's dead.”

“We?”

“Me. My dog.”

The crackle of fire
gets louder.

“You gotta come this
way,” I shout. “I can't reach you, but if you climb on the
banisters you could jump down.”

“No!” she cries.
“He's hurt!”

“Who's hurt?”

“My dog!” She
slaps a hand across her cheek in absolute despair but I almost laugh.
Her sister's dead. Her parents must be too. Her house is on fire.
She's been attacked. She's got blood pumping out her like there's no
tomorrow... And she's worried about a dog?

I guess it's just the
shock that makes me wanna laugh, right?

Just the shock.

“You've gotta leave
it behind!” I say.

She gives me this look
like I just told her she has to eat it or something. Then she
staggers forward and crumples to her knees.

Shit!

The
fire from the main bedroom room swells forward with a roar, then
there's a craaack
above me and the ceiling plaster caves in. I fling my arms over my
head to protect myself, stagger back down the steps, almost tripping.

A series of clatters
and swooshes follow and when I open my eyes, I see it: a wooden
ladder. It's dropped down on its runners from the hatch that leads
into the attic. It's within reach. I can use it to pull myself to the
girl.

I grip the bannisters
and swing my legs up, crouching on the hand-rail, then carefully
stretch myself up to standing. The fire is so hot it hurts but I
reach for the ladder, grasp a rung and pull myself forward using all
the strength I have in my body. My feet lift from the bannister and I
swing my body round and collapse to the ground but my feet are just
inches from the flames and I scrabble backwards and –

I'm safe.

I'm alive.

I made it.

The girl lies on the
floor, looking up all wide-eyed, blinking.

“What happened?”
she says, her voice slurring.

“You blacked out.
You're bleeding and the smoke's making you weak. We've gotta get
out.”

She
grabs my hand and uses me to hoist herself up. “Pip,” she says,
darting back through the corridor to her bedroom.

“Leave the frugging
dog!” I cry, glancing back over my shoulder at the swelling flames.

When I reach her room,
it looks just like mine but decorated differently, with floral wall
paper and pictures of animals. On the floor is the Firster who
must've attacked her, lying face down, covered in bloody bite marks.
Beside him lies a rusty meat clever.

I feel sick.

Then I see the dog on
the bed – a massive thing with a great big, pink tongue hanging
out its mouth. There's so much blood pumping from a deep, blunt wound
on his shoulder, his blonde fur's stained red.

“What happened?” I
say.

“He was trying to
protect me from the Firsters. They had that.” She gesture to the
cleaver. “They cut him. Then me. I tried to get him up but then I
saw the flames and I...I... panicked.”

I kneel beside the dog
and lean my ear close to his mouth, feeling warm, soft breath on my
ear. He's still alive.

I straighten up. “OK,
this ent gonna be easy.”

The
dog's big and meaty but I reckon I can bare the weight of him.
Afterall, I dragged both my parents down the stairs earlier this
evening. This evening?
It already feels like a life time ago!

Earlier this evening
Mim and I weren't orphans.

Earlier this evening,
Mim wasn't a murderer.

Earlier this evening I
wouldn't ever have risked my life for a stupid dog!

I wedge my arms
beneath his stomach and heave him against my chest. He's not as heavy
as I was expecting and I wonder if that's from the effects of the
adrenaline that's coursing through my body.

We make it into the
corridor but the fire is bigger, closer, hotter.

And the bannisters are
ablaze.

We can't go down.

We could go back, go
out the window, but then we'd have to leave the dog and for some
unknown reason I ent letting that happen. Not now. Not after
everything.

I cower at the sound
of another horrify crash from the master bedroom. The ceiling must've
caved in some more.

And that's when I have
my idea.

“The attic!” I
say.

It's the only way. If
we go up, we can go through the sky light onto the roof.

The girl stares at me,
all big brown eyes and terror. “What?”

“Help me!” I say,
ignoring her.

I've twisted round,
trying to get the unconscious dog onto my back. The girl realises
what I'm doing and with all the strength she must possess in her thin
body, she helps drag the dog onto my back.

“Now go, I need you
to pull.”

She scampers into the
hall and up the ladder in a flash, crouching at the top, peering
down. I stagger through the hallway then, with one hand securing the
unconscious dog's forelegs over my shoulder, I use the other to pull
the weight of us onto the first rung. Every muscle in my body screams

I pull.

I step.

I pull.

I step.

Inbetween each
movement, a roar or a screech comes from between my teeth without me
even meaning to. I sound like an animal.

Three rungs.

Four rungs.

Five rungs.

Closer and closer
while the flames lick at the base of the ladder like an orange ocean.

Six rungs.

Seven.

Then, I'm close enough
for the girl to reach us and she leans down, clasps my hand in hers
and pulls.

With a last groan, the
unconscious dog and I burst through the hatch into the attic and
tumble onto the floorboards.

I roll onto my side
and get straight to my feet. The dark attic's lit by the fire light
that pours through a massive hole in the floor where half of it has
fallen away. Underneath I can see into the master bedroom, can see
two charred and blackened bodies lying side by side surrounded by
flame.

Her parents.

The Firsters set fire
to their bodies.

I retch.

“Get the skylight
open,” I say through my gagging.

The girl scampers
across the room and yanks the window with the full weight of her
body. It swings down towards her and air rushes in –

But
there's an enormous whompp noise
–

And a plume of fire
stretches up through the hatch towards us like an enormous, column of
heat –

“Shit!” I cry,
falling back from the jet and pulling the dog by his back legs.

The flames fan across
the ceiling, rushing towards the oxygen it needs to burn.

“Shut the window!”
I scream. “Shut the window!”

But it's too late. The
girl leaps onto her tiptoes, pushing at the top bar of the window
with her fingertips, but she hasn't got enough strength to propel it
upwards. She turns to me, pleadingly, her eyes filled with despair.

There's thick smoke
collecting above us so I crouch low and drag the dog behind me until
I'm just below the window.

“Get out!” I say
to the girl.

She pulls herself onto
the ledge and squeezes through the gap onto the slanted roof top.
Then, with difficulty, I get the dog back into my arms and shove him
out after her. But he's big and his tummy wedges in the gap.

I push his rump with
both arms.

“Sorry doggy, sorry,
sorry,” I say, watching as the flames grow bigger, the smoke
thicker, feeling my lungs struggling more and more to get enough
oxygen.

I shove.

I am not gonna die
here. I refuse to die here.

I cover my face with
my sleeve, coughing and retching –

My eyes sting and my
throat burns and my skin pricks from the heat –

And I turn and shove
that stupid frugging dog with my back, pushing my whole weight into
him –

If I die because of
this stupid dog, this stupid frugging dog –

If this is how I go –

I blink –

My eyes are wet with
tears –

The fire roars –

My throat burns –

My skin hurts.

My skin, my skin –

It hurts –

And the flames get
closer and –

This is it –

It's too late –

It's over –

It hurts –

Then suddenly the dog
slides out and there's that space for me in the window and I pull my
arms through and the girl grabs me and tugs and the fire's at my feet
and I scream and I slither and I'm through – I'm through! – and I
slam the window closed.